


Jus Primae Noctis

by Anonymous



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors
Genre: Alternate Universe - A/B/O, Come Inflation, Double Penetration, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Prostate Milking, Shameless Smut, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 13:44:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13214976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Geneseed cultivation among the Luna Wolves.  PWP.





	Jus Primae Noctis

Tarik was nervous.

Well, nervous was an understatement.

He knew what 'it' entailed, in the same way a neophyte knew what combat meant. All theory, no practice. But he was not walking into a battle. Not a battle he had been trained to fight at least.

He could not be faulted for his nervousness, he reassured himself. Even if it was something as natural as... this.

Ezekyle, at last sensing his unusual state of humours, reached out and clasped his shoulder, though he said nothing. The touch served to remind him: this was it. This was really happening. He felt a surge of resentment towards the rising star of the first company, sworn brothers-in-arms though they were, for being there at all.

Why Horus had asked Ezekyle to be present, Tarik couldn't fathom. He hoped that there had been some sort of mistake, an egregious misinterpretation, and perhaps they were only meeting up to discuss strategy. In the Primarch's personal chambers. Yes. There was another, even more desperate hope, that perhaps it was Ezekyle he had truly asked for and he had only been made to tag along.

Whatever reason Ezekyle was coming along, he sorely hoped it wasn't as some sort of chronicler. Though Horus had stressed the necessity of 'it', going so far as to call it a duty, Tarik couldn't help feeling he had gotten the short end of the stick.

And here they were, the two of them, the only ones who had made it out of the 25th batch alive, standing before Horus' door.

Ezekyle looked at him. Tarik needed a moment to process the gesture. He was being deferred to. Ezekyle was _deferring_ to him.

He raised his fist, about to knock, but the door swung in.

Horus Lupercal had opened the door. He towered before them, their peerless gene-father, and Tarik felt weak at the knees. Had he not been so nervous, he would have surely straightened his back; as it was, it took a good deal of willpower to remain upright.

"Ah," the Primarch greeted, "Tarik, Ezekyle. Good of you to come, I was about to send someone to fetch you."

"It's half-twenty," Ezekyle replied, "We're on time."

"Yes. Well. Come in, come in." The two of them were ushered inside, led past the drawing room, the library, and the dining room. Though it wasn't the first time -- visiting, that was -- for either of them, Tarik nonetheless felt himself marvelling at the richness and grandeur of the primarch's chambers.

He was caught off-guard when Horus turned away from the bedroom and showed them instead to the baths. The servants had already drawn the water and the floor-to-ceiling mirrors were not yet fully fogged. Looking at their reflections in the mirror, though they were all wearing simple robes, Horus nonetheless looked like a king.

Horus caught him staring and smiled at him through the mirror. Tarik flushed and retrained his vision on the water's edge.

"I've just washed," he blurted out.

"Come have a soak nonetheless," Horus shrugged, already in the process of stripping himself.

"You're too tense," Ezekyle chided, elbowing him in the ribs lightly, before he started shedding his own robes.

"Says the damn spectator," Tarik muttered, though he began to disrobe as well.

Horus stepped in first, then Ezekyle, whose hair was at last let down and pooling past his elbows, and finally Tarik. Soon the three of them were seated in the deep end of the baths, with the water up to their shoulders and chest respectively. There was a comfortable space between them, one which let Tarik relax. He stretched his submerged limbs and took in the light scent of perfurmed oil, barely detectable in the steam.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw his gene-father and battle brother in similar states of contentment. Horus was seated in a meditative position, well-muscled and utterly unscarred chest gently rising and falling in tandem with his shoulders as he breathed. Ezekyle, on the other hand, was leaned up against the edge, his long black hair fanned out around him.

How many battles had the three of them been through? Hundreds, perhaps more than a thousand. He remembered the initial years of the crusade, where Horus would often personally lead them into the fray. Now the reaches of the Sixty-Third were so widespread, they had to draw straws to make the speartip. Lupercal's name was heralded from one star system to the next and with him, his faithful wolves. His star gave no sign of falling or even plateauing and Tarik wished, with a sudden fervency, that it never would.

Thinking back to the last time he had been assigned to Lupercal's honour guard brought up a swell of affection in him. It was no shame, to be asked this by his gene-father. If anything, it was an honour, to be singled out like this, to be in a position to help the legion and the efforts of the crusade outside of battle.

Lupercal caught him staring a second time and this time, Tarik could not pull his eyes away. His genefather smiled, as indulgent as ever, before leaning over to palm at Tarik's face, running his thumb against the cheekbone.

And then, with a slip into playfulness that Tarik feared only he had inherited, Horus flicked him on the nose.

He pulled back instinctively, wrinkling his nose like a child, and Horus laughed, causing Ezekyle to sit upright.

"I'm flattered, Tarik," Horus said.

"What, what is it?" Ezekyle asked, looking from father to brother.

"It was nothing," Tarik insisted, looking away to rub at his nose. Only his pride (if that) was hurt.

"Well, that's about enough of a soak for me," Horus declared, standing up, "What about you two?"

"Just about," Ezekyle grunted, following Horus' lead. Tarik nodded, keeping his eyes shamefully averted. And after his little pep talk, he still couldn't look at it directly! This was no communal bathing session, no casual bonding of brotherhood, this was --

He swallowed hard and followed Horus and Ezekyle out of the baths. In the hallway between, there was a full-body dryer, so that when they stepped into Horus' bedroom, only Ezekyle's hair retained a bit of its dampness; Tarik's comparatively shorter locks were completely dry.

Horus threw himself down on his enormous four poster bed, large enough to house the whole first company, Tarik reckoned. It was with little ceremony that he moved so that he was propped up against a veritable tide of pillows.

"Tarik. Come here."

Tarik went.

It was like a switch had been snapped on. Later, he realised that Horus must have, through willpower alone, allowed a bit more of his natural charisma slip through, so that both Tarik and Ezekyle were fully under his thrall. At the present, he climbed on the bed and crawled over, suddenly uncaring of their state of undress.

"Closer," Horus prompted, and Tarik moved so that his legs were straddling the other. Behind him, Ezekyle had also gotten on the bed and gave a low rumble, of approval or arousal, who could say?

"Much better," Horus purred, taking a hand to his face again. Tarik leaned into his touch, feeling himself lost in the other's midnight-blue eyes. Horus carded his other hand through Tarik's hair, fingers lingering against his scalp, before he nudged Tarik closer.

"Kiss me," his gene-father commanded and even without the command, Tarik would have done just that.

It was a chaste kiss -- at first. They were at that angle where their noses were practically parallel and Lupercal's mouth was such that it seemed to swallow him whole. Tarik heard, and then felt, a pleased hum from his gene-father, before he was kissed back in earnest.

He moaned when he had ceded control of the kiss and was tasting the other, tongue against tongue, for the first time. It was an intimacy he had assumed the Primarchs only shared with one another, and yet here was Horus, indulging in it with him. His prick twitched, the beginnings of an erection beginning to stir, and Horus moved his hands, placing one on the small of Tarik's back and the other on his waist, before twisting his tongue in a way that ended the kiss yet had Tarik seeing stars.

He was... well, he hadn't come from that alone, though his prick was significantly farther than half-mast. He was dully aware of his name, being called by his gene-father, but it was only when Horus again ran a thumb against his cheekbone that Tarik focused enough to respond.

It wasn't much of a response, only a weak flutter of eyelids and a questioning groan.

"I asked," Horus repeats, patience tempered with amusement, "If you knew what it entailed. The incubation of a larger batch of geneseed."

"I know," Tarik heard himself responding, though he could hardly imagine his tongue working after a kiss like that, "I... I read about it."

"Did you?" the amusement shone through in Horus' eyes. "Good. Then you'll know you have to be opened up and milked dry." Tarik hummed in false acquiescence as he allowed Horus to move him about, so that his back was against Horus' chest and he was facing Ezekyle. And then the meaning of the words caught up to him and he stiffened.

"What?" he asked, even as Ezekyle reached over to play with his nipples. "What was that last bit?"

"You'll need to be milked dry and opened up -- in full -- before we can proceed," Horus repeated, hooking an arm under Tarik's right knee so that he could rub his other hand against his entrance.

Tarik furrowed his brows, still light-headed from the kiss and in disbelief that this had progressed at all. "What does that mean?" he stressed.

"Exactly what you think it means," Ezekyle grinned, leaning over to kiss him as well.

Being kissed by Ezekyle was more familiar territory, whether they were on Lupercal's bed or not, and Tarik clung to the familiarity like a starving dog might bite onto a bone. He surged forward, knocking noses, clacking teeth, and pushing tongues. So determined was he not to give an inch that he hardly noticed when Lupercal sank a finger in, slowly massaging the outermost ring of muscle.

Ezekyle was the first to pull away, flushed red with sparkling eyes. Tarik grinned at him, licking his lips.

"It's my win."

"So it is," Ezekyle conceded, taking his battle brother's left hand and guiding it to his own erection, "But it's only the first round of many. We know how this will end, Tarik."

Tarik smiled even as he obliged, wrapping his fingers around Ezekyle's member and beginning with slow and steady pumps. It was good, that Ezekyle was here to distract him, for Lupercal was humming to himself, stroking his inner thighs and waist intermittently, while working each ring of muscle with patent slowness. Soon Ezekyle was leaking -- and Tarik fully hard -- and Tarik brought his thumb up, pressing down against the slit.

Ezekyle's eyes shot open and he curled his lips into a snarl.

"Come on," Tarik grinned, "Let's hear you beg for it."

Ezekyle looked fit to counter with an offensive of his own, particularly incensed at this power play in their genefather's company -- and perhaps sought to reach over and give Tarik's own erection some cruel attention -- but he looked over Tarik and saw a command in Horus' eyes. With difficulty, he kept his choler in check and, through gritted teeth, began to beg.

"Please, Tarik."

"Hmmm," Tarik mused, drinking in the sweet supplication. It wasn't often Ezekyle relented, after all. "How badly do you want it?"

"Like water, like air," Ezekyle groaned, as Tarik playfully slid his four fingers up and down the shaft. "Tarik, fuck."

"Good boy," Tarik teased, indulgent in his own way. "See, it wasn't so hard." He shifted his thumb and then began to pump in earnest, and Ezekyle spilled between them, his seed splattering Tarik's hand, face, and the sheets underneath in that order.

Ezekyle leaned against him, resting his face in the crook of Tarik's neck as he waited for his breath and normal heartrate to return. Without the other putting on a show, there was nothing to distract Tarik from Lupercal's ministrations. His genefather was now up to his knuckle inside him and his fingertip kept brushing against Tarik's prostate. He felt himself on the cusp of orgasm and then, with a tiny little swipe and a surprised 'oh', he was spilling as well.

"Ezekyle," Horus addressed, while Tarik was winding down from his own high.

"Hrm."

"Check to see how many times more."

Ezekyle shifted somewhat so that he could reach his hand between them. Tarik felt him trailing down his stomach, down, down, down, until his balls were cupped by a familiar calloused palm.

"At least five," Ezekyle answered, squeezing lightly.

Tarik groaned.

"You can't be serious...!" he pleaded.

-

What followed was a phasing in and out of consciousness. Horus had worked each ring of muscle before making him climax with one finger; he sought to do the same thing with two fingers, and then three. At that point, Tarik could scarcely feel his arse, and he was distantly aware that his waist and hips were jerking weakly, though Ezekyle seemed intent on bleeding his nipples, for how insistently he was mouthing at them.

"Lupercal..." he moaned, unable to concentrate on anything when he felt the tip of a fourth finger.

"Yes?" Horus answered, forever attentive.

"I -- " and Tarik flushed at this confession. "I can't. No more."

"Nonsense," Horus answered, craning his head to kiss and suckle at Tarik's neck, causing him to throw his head back anew. "You're doing very well, Tarik. Very well."

Ezekyle reached between them, feeling at his ballsack yet again. "Almost," he reported, though Tarik couldn't feel a thing.

"There," Horus hummed, as all four fingers wormed in, "You see? It's almost over."

Tarik passed out to the distinct sensation of climaxing, and when he woke anew, he found he was on his arms and legs, supported by Ezekyle beneath him and Horus behind him. He turned his head back, looking at his genefather, and Horus returned his gaze before lowering his head to lick a wet line up Tarik's spine.

Both of Horus' hands were on his waist and had they not been there, Tarik was certain he would have collapsed atop Ezekyle. As it was, Ezekyle still needed to hold onto his biceps and judging by the erection that was digging into Tarik's hip, the other had had ample time to recover from his own climax.

"My son," Horus praised, and though the tone sent a spark to his prick, he found it could not even twitch, much less harden. It merely dangled between his legs, a sad and limp appendage, milked into impotence. "How beautiful you are."

And then he thrust his hips, entering, and Tarik screamed.

Horus was big. Far bigger than Ezekyle, far bigger than his four fingers, far bigger than anything Tarik had thought himself capable of taking.

There was searing pain and his body was taught like a puppet one moment, and then collapsed upon itself but for Horus' grip and Ezekyle's support the next. He felt like he was being ripped apart and nothing -- not the conditioning, not the loosening, not even his love for his master and gene-father -- could keep him from bowing his head and weeping.

"It's too much," he begged through clenched teeth, "It's too much...!"

"He's shaking," Ezekyle noted, with something like alarm, and Horus pulled out and Tarik would have cried with relief, had he not already been crying and had Horus not pushed himself back in seconds later.

"Tarik," Horus called to him, "You are Astartes. You are no mortal man. You will not bend under this sort of pressure. You are not made to break. You are my son and it is an honour, to make you anew in this way."

How Lupercal's words managed to carry through the pain, Tarik has no idea. But he heard them with a sizzling sort of clarity and swallowed his tears at the end of it. How many other Luna Wolves could claim to have experienced this? And what deeper claim could his gene-father lay on him, than this, this most intimate of acts?

It was a clear case of mind over matter, or perhaps where belief overcame body. Either way, after that reproach, Tarik began to feel pleasure -- well, a tingling in his fingers and toes -- at the sensation of being claimed. He was arching into Horus' thrusts soon enough and Horus was praising him anew, pressing kisses to the nape of his neck and his shoulders.

And then Horus came -- buried deep within him -- and it was like they were on Cthonia, for how _hot_ he was. He stroked himself a couple times after that, emptying fully, before he pulled out and reached for a pre-prepared stopper, wedging it in so that not a single drop was spilled.

-

When Tarik came to again, he was seated in Lupercal's lap. Horus was stroking his swollen stomach and his newly-leaking member while Ezekyle was curled up, much like a cat, with his head pillowed against Horus' thigh.

"Lupercal..." Tarik murmured, though his whole body felt sore and his tongue too big for his mouth.

"It's over," Horus told him, "You did well. The Apothecaries will come to collect the geneseed within you in a day's time."

Tarik looked down, looked at his engorged stomach, and wondered if something from this event might show in the months to pass. Nothing would, of course; Astartes' bodies were more elastic than that.

"Father," he sighed, in a tone that did not seem questioning.

"Yes?"

There were many things Tarik wanted to ask. Will I be asked to do this again, has Ezekyle done something similar, will my own geneseed show through this, does the Emperor know of this method of accumulation?, and so forth, but it all washed away when he concentrated on Horus' hand against his stomach, delicate but lingering strokes, as one might pet a prized hunting hound.

"I love you," was what he said instead, turning his head so that his face rested against Horus' neck.

Horus smiled, stroking at his cheek. "And I, you, Tarik," he answered, "And I, you."


End file.
